


An Illicit Affair

by cryptidbf, denounce



Series: People Like Us [4]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Age Difference, Forbidden Love, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Morning After, Period-Typical Homophobia, Trans Character(s), dear god what have we done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidbf/pseuds/cryptidbf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/denounce/pseuds/denounce
Summary: 1942.Stefan Bekowsky is getting used to his place as a fresh-faced Traffic detective. He soon finds himself in a passionate affair with Gordon Leary— a man not only eleven years his senior, but hisboss.Love such as this is bound to end in tragedy, and deep down, past all the infatuation, they fear the worst.(Provides backstory to the affair between Stefan and Leary, mentioned in chapter 10 of Overworked.)





	1. Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Oops.
> 
> -oniyen

Ever since Stefan was promoted to Traffic, Leary couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.

Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t have let himself stray so far. After all, Stefan is… _young,_ much younger than him and half the station— he’s only twenty one. Another issue is that Stefan works _under_ him, and anybody with a good head on their shoulders knows how boss-worker relationships end. But something’s keeping him from pulling out, no matter how much he tells himself to quit— somewhere along the way, he genuinely began to have _feelings_ for Stefan. Actual, _real_ romantic feelings for him.

He doesn’t know how, and even if he _did,_ it still wouldn’t make sense. Leary doesn’t see himself as a romantic individual; just a one-and-done type of guy. But with Stefan, he’s praising him for more reasons than to just get in his pants. Every “good job” and pat on the back was less of a move and more of— well, more of something he thought Stefan needed to hear.

 _Shit._ Leary squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Another problem just came up— he doesn’t know if Stefan swings towards men. He’s seen him flirting with the secretaries, and every single time he’s had to ignore the uncomfortable burning sensation in his chest. Alright, _maybe_ he’s seen Stefan throw another man an appreciative glance _once,_ but— that doesn’t mean anything. No, maybe it does. Actually, it probably doesn’t—

Letting out a frustrated groan, Leary runs a hand through his already-disheveled hair. He’s snapping his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Lottie. Kid. I need another.”

Lottie turns to face him, frowning slightly. “You sure, fox? You’re three glasses deep already; I don’t want you to keel over.” He clears his throat— he’s obviously working on obtaining a lower pitch.

“I don’t care,” Leary mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I half wanna pass out. Half wanna not.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re right.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Lottie takes his empty glass away from him. “Pace yourself,” he says, flashing Leary an easygoing smile. “Can’t die ‘n’ let down your whole squad.”

Leary lets out another laugh— a little more genuine this time. “Right. Thanks, Lots.” He watches Lottie turn around, making his way to the backroom, but— “Hey, wait.”

Lottie glances back at him. “What is it?”

“Just wanted to say that you’re doin’ good, kid,” Leary says, and he can’t help but smile at the sunny grin that crosses Lottie’s face. “You make a good man.”

“I _am_ a good man,” Lottie corrects, smiling sweetly and continuing on his way. And just like that— he’s gone, leaving Leary alone in the dimly-lit bar.

Leary inhales sharply, dropping his head and covering his face with his hands. His thoughts drift back to Stefan— the way his hair is so easily mussed, the way his smile lights up an entire room with its radiance, the way his well-fitted suit hugs his body… _Stop._ His mind refuses to stop— he’s imagining the younger man under him now, tie undone and jacket pushed off of his shoulders. _Stop._ He’s imagining himself going down his shirt button by button, pushing it off and moving to pull off Stefan’s undershirt next. _Stop._ He’s imagining the feeling of holding Stefan’s wrists above his head, inching ever closer, close enough to finally—

All of a sudden, Leary stands up. He exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding, gathering up his jacket and slipping it back on. _Home._ He’s gotta get home. Damn it, if he can’t make it to his apartment, he’ll just do it in his car. _Fuck._

_What kind of shit have you stepped in now, Gordon?_

 

* * *

 

Stefan doesn’t know what to think when Leary calls him to his office at the end of the day.

His first thought is that he’s done something wrong— but, then again, he can’t quite come up with anything that he _could’ve_ done wrong. Today had been smooth sailing case-wise; the minor mistakes that he _had_ made weren’t exactly cause for punishment, so he’s quick to wave the idea away. Maybe Leary just wants to discuss the car thief he’d brought in. That’s probably it. What else could it be?

Even so, he finds himself hesitating outside Leary’s office, one hand raised to knock and the other clenched at his side. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, his gaze intense enough to nearly burn a hole in the door. Something deep down inside him is hopeful that Leary wants to talk about something… _else_. Inhaling sharply and exhaling, he shakes his head. _Don’t be ridiculous_.

Finally gathering up the courage, he reaches out to rap his knuckles against the door and... waits. It isn’t long before Leary opens the door, almost as if he’s been waiting. He offers Stefan one of his usual grins— steps back and motions for him to come inside. “Good to see you, Bekowsky.”

Stefan shoots him a smile of his own before moving to brush past him. “Same to you, cap,” he says, and he rubs at the back of the neck, almost sheepishly, “Uh, I’ve been racking my brain, but I couldn’t come up with anything, so— why’d you call me here?”

Leary gives a slight shrug, crossing the room to lean back against his desk. “I don’t know,” he says, “I won’t tiptoe around it. I wanted to invite you to a dinner I’m having tonight with some—” He waves his hand vaguely. “—associates.”

For a long moment, Stefan is silent— frozen, too, as his hand stays in place at the back of his neck. His face is inexplicably warm— and even worse, his heart’s ramming itself into his ribcage over and over. “Oh,” he says, “That’s—” He stops and bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not what I expected.”

Snorting, Leary raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

“Anything but that,” Stefan says, letting out a soft laugh. “I honestly thought maybe I was in trouble at first.”

Leary lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “No, Bekowsky,” he says, pushing off of his desk and coming up to stand in front of him. “You’re doing perfect, kid. I thought you’d want to celebrate.”

Stefan clears his throat— it’s suddenly dry. “Good to know I was worried for nothing,” he says, “But, uh— thank you, sir. I’m glad you think so highly of me.” A pause. “Are you sure you want me around, though?”

“Of course I do,” Leary says, looking up at him with his hands in his jacket pockets. “Why would I offer if I didn’t?” He tilts his head to the side, just a bit— he’s studying Stefan, eyes darting around his face searchingly.

“I—” Stefan shakes his head and averts his gaze, cheeks coloring. _Damn it, stop blushing_. “I don’t know. Just— making sure, I guess.” He brings his attention back to Leary, then, and— it doesn’t lessen the heat in his face, not in the slightest. “I’d be happy to join you.”

Leary offers him a grin, reaching up to brush some dust off of Stefan’s shoulder. “Good,” he hums, his hand lingering for an agonizingly long time. “Reservation’s at seven. That new place near that one bar, _We Speak Latin._ We’re planning on going there after dinner.”

Stefan hopes that Leary doesn’t notice how he’s tensed up under his touch. “Right,” he says, “I know where it is. I’ll be there.”

Leary nods, finally dropping his arm from Stefan’s shoulder and back to his side. “Don’t be late, kid,” he says, and— this time, there’s something vaguely _flirty_ behind his grin. “I’ll be watching the clock.” With that, he moves to walk past Stefan and out of his office, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a firm squeeze on the way.

It takes Stefan a minute to find his words. “Of course, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

* * *

 

What exactly is Stefan supposed to think of this?

As he walks into the restaurant, that was the only thing on his mind. He’s trying not to get his hopes up _too_ high about how the night might go, but— he’s had his eyes on his captain for a while now. Silver tongued, charismatic, and not too shabby in the looks department. All traits he looks for in a man, and then some. God, though, who is he kidding? This has no chance of going anywhere. He’s just acting like a schoolboy with a crush; it’ll go away in a couple months if he wills it hard enough.

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past _three_ months. No results, as of yet, and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping. He feels ridiculous; Leary is his _boss_ , for God’s sake. How many rules would he be breaking by trying to pursue him? Probably every single one of them.

The sound of Leary’s voice snaps Stefan out of his thoughts. “Bekowsky!” He greets, waving him over to the table. There’s one empty seat— right next to him. The other seats are taken up by men and women, all dressed formally yet comfortably; though, even the women are in suits. Leary’s suit is not all that fancy, but it does the trick— he looks like he’s here for a sophisticated dinner, like everyone else.

Stefan inhales sharply and tugs a little at his tie. It’s suddenly very stifling in here. He makes his way over to the table. “Cap,” he greets, “I hope I’m on time.”

Leary claps him on the shoulder. “Lucky you,” he says, flashing a grin. “You’re early.” He lets go of Stefan’s shoulder to gesture to the others sitting at the table. “Meet my— well, my _friends,_ now.” He chuckles, introducing them all one after the other. “Norma Edwards,” a woman in a dark red pinstripe suit— a three-piece— with round glasses and cropped-short brown hair dips her head, “Theodore Bates,” a man in a tuxedo with a navy-striped pink bowtie and neatly-groomed blonde hair raises his hand nervously, “Cherry Wilson,” a woman in a loose-fitting two-piece suit with auburn hair and glamorous makeup waves her pinky, “and last but not least, Kieran Lloyd.” A man in a tieless three-piece with slicked black hair and his shirt unbuttoned below his collarbone reaches out for a handshake.

Stefan moves to take Kieran’s hand and give it a firm shake before pulling back. “Stefan Bekowsky,“ he says, “It’s, uh— nice to meet you all.”

Norma lets out a sharp whistle. “A pollack, eh?” She grins wide, turning to Leary and nudging him in the shoulder. “Think you got what it takes to handle one of ‘em, Gord? My ex-girlfriend’s a pollack.”

Leary elbows Norma in the side, which only earns him a snicker. He clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, turning to Stefan with a playful grin on his face. “You can see we like to joke around here.”

Cherry snorts. She lights a cigarette, taking a long drag before letting it rest between her fingers. “As much as we’re silly,” she says, a thick Southern Belle-like accent coming through, “we like to talk serious things, too. Hope that don’t scare you away, sugar.”

Stefan laughs— he hopes it doesn’t sound too shaky. “I don’t know,” he says, “I’m pretty overwhelmed.”

“Come on, now,” Kieran says, and he flashes Stefan a grin, “We don’t bite. Much.”

Norma gives a toothy grin of her own. “Only if you’re into that.” Another elbow, from Cherry this time.

“Not exactly something I can admit in front of my boss, is it?” Stefan says, tone joking.

At that, Kieran lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, _yeah_ , you’re going to fit right in,” he says, and raising his eyebrows, he turns his attention to Leary. The grin hasn’t dropped— if anything, it’s only grown. “Keep this one. I like him.”

Leary can’t help but chuckle as well, reaching out and clapping Stefan on the back. “Don’t worry, kid,” he says, giving Stefan a warm smile. “We’re all equals here. No need to keep callin’ me your boss.”

Stefan hums and almost daringly, lets his gaze slide over Leary. “I like calling you sir, though,” he says.

Leary sputters. Norma, on the other hand, slaps her knee and starts cackling like a witch. Even Cherry laughs— refined, a delicate red-nailed hand over her mouth. “Christ,” Kieran says, “If you don’t keep him, _I_ will.”

“Hey, now,” Leary says, almost protectively throwing an arm around Stefan’s shoulders. “This one’s mine.” He snorts a little, giving Stefan a suggestive wink.

Norma scoffs. “We’ve _never_ abided by the whole—” She’s trying to think, gesturing vaguely. “—claiming thing. I mean, Cherry and I—” She’s cut off by a sharp elbow to her ribs from the woman in question, wheezing out all of the air from her lungs. “Nevermind.”

“Sharing is caring,” Kieran remarks.

At that, Theodore clears his throat and finally speaks up. “You’re all going to scare him off before the night is even over,” he says. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

Kieran scoffs. “I haven’t behaved a single day in my life,” he says, “and you know it.”

Stefan lets out a much less nervous laugh this time around. “It’s fine, really,” he says, “I’ve, uh, heard worse.”

Leary’s arm has not moved from Stefan’s shoulders— if anything, he’s subtly pulling him closer. He leans in a bit, just to see his face clearly. “You’re sure gonna hear worse by the time tonight’s over,” he says, voice low. He ignores Norma’s snickering.

Stefan swallows hard and despite the more rational side of himself, he lets his eyes dip lower than they should. Way lower. “I’m not complaining,” he says.

With a chuckle, Leary’s hand slides over to the scruff of Stefan’s neck, giving a firm squeeze. It’s then that his eyes meet Stefan’s— there’s something _intense_ behind his gaze, almost challenging. “Good to know.”

 

* * *

 

The dinner was pleasant— lots of laughs were had, even during the more serious topics. Cherry talked about how she’d been socially transitioned for a year, Norma spoke about her recent explorations with women, Kieran brought up how he’d actually been going steady with the same guy for a while, and Theodore had apparently started a support group of sorts under the guise of a literature club. Stefan and Leary listened as closely as they could, but… all they could focus on was each other. They kept stealing glances all throughout the evening, and Leary’s hand had even dropped under the table to rest daringly on the younger man’s thigh.

There was an unspoken _game_ of sorts between them: _who’s going to crack first?_ It didn’t help that once dinner was over, everyone else decided to call it quits for the night, leaving only the two of them to head to the bar. It _especially_ didn’t help that, at the table they had chosen near the back of _We Speak Latin,_ the hand on Stefan’s thigh from earlier became just a bit more daring, inching ever closer to the stiffening in his pants.

It was taking Stefan every bit of his willpower not to give in right then and there. All he could think about was the hand on his thigh— and how, if Leary wanted, he wouldn’t stop him if he decided to go further. As it was, his own hands twitched with the urge to reach out and pull him in by the tie, to close the already-small gap between them. Things only escalated when he suggested they have a friendly drinking contest. One minute, they’re throwing back liquor and the next—

The next Leary’s pinning him to the wall outside of his apartment, fumbling for his keys while he kisses Stefan in rough passion. He doesn’t know how they got here; he doesn’t care, nor can he bring himself to try to when he’s got Leary’s tongue in his mouth and dangerous thoughts swimming in his head. Stefan’s finally giving into his urges, hands roaming and making it even harder for the other man to find his keys.

When Leary finally retrieves his keys, he hums into Stefan’s mouth— pulls away briefly to unlock the door and pull Stefan inside, slamming it shut and pushing him up against it, resuming where they left off. Anybody who happened to be walking by would’ve been able to hear the reaction that gets out of Stefan. Leary gives a small grunt of acknowledgement, and he’s beginning to shrug off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor as he moves to undo his tie next. He doesn’t get much further than that before Stefan is grabbing his hands and moving them to exactly where he wants them.

Briefly, Leary pulls away, leaning in to speak into Stefan’s ear. “I’m calling the shots here,” he growls, but there’s no real anger behind it. “Got it?”

Stefan’s breath hitches. “Yes, sir.”

An uncharacteristically dark smirk crosses Leary’s features. “That’s what I like to hear,” he mumbles, nipping and licking at the tip of Stefan’s ear as he reaches up to pull _his_ tie loose instead.

At that, Stefan tries to hold back the moan threatening to rise from his throat. It doesn’t work. He squeezes his eyes shut and attempts to steady himself. “Are you always this intense?”

Leary chuckles, dropping Stefan’s tie to the ground and moving to get his jacket off next. “I’m holding myself back right now,” he murmurs, giving one last bite before pulling back and smashing his lips against Stefan’s. That gets another noise out of him and almost desperately, Stefan tugs him closer by the arms. Leary groans quietly into Stefan’s mouth as there’s a brush of contact, the two men pressed against each other now. Finally wrestling Stefan free of his jacket, Leary pulls away again. “You’re impatient,” he murmurs, his lips barely even an inch away from the younger man’s. “How long have you been waitin’ for this, huh? You been workin’ hard just to get my attention?”

Inhaling sharply and exhaling with a laugh, Stefan smirks ever-so-slightly. “Maybe,” he says, “Maybe not. Work a little harder yourself and I might tell you.”

Suddenly, Leary’s hand snakes up to the back of Stefan’s neck and grasps tightly, tilting his head back by the scruff. “What was that?” He asks, though it’s clear he heard it. There’s a glint in his eyes as he drops his mouth to Stefan’s neck, teeth grazing against the skin.

“All things considered,” Stefan manages to get out, and he’s moved to dig his fingers into the back of Leary’s shirt, “I think you heard me.”

Leary just laughs— more of a scoff, really, and bites down on Stefan’s neck. _Hard._ He doesn’t even stay back to kiss at it, to take away the sting— he just moves on to the next spot. “You can do more with your hands than just grab me,” he says, his voice slightly muffled with his mouth to Stefan’s skin. “Start working on my shirt. I’ll help you with yours.”

Stefan opens his mouth to speak— and his words promptly die in his throat as another breathy moan escapes him. He takes a minute to compose himself. “I guess I can’t argue with that,” he says, and he starts to fumble with Leary’s buttons, one by one. It’s a little hard to do with how distracted he is, but he manages to get them all undone and without hesitation, he pushes his shirt off of his shoulders. “Happy now?”  

“Very,” Leary nearly purrs, pulling back only to press his lips to Stefan’s in a sloppy kiss. He’s more deftly unbuttoning Stefan’s shirt— after all, he’s better experienced. Stefan’s no rookie, though, and that much is obvious by how he deepens the kiss. Leary merely grunts in response, his tongue slipping into Stefan’s mouth as he practically throws his shirt to the floor. Stefan’s hands are roaming again, sliding up Leary’s chest and then into his hair, tugging slightly. That earns him another grunt— and a sudden, rough roll of Leary’s hips.

Stefan breaks away, breathing heavily. For a minute, he just stares, eyes darting around Leary’s face as if he’ll find the answer to his next question. “Are we doing this?”

Leary’s hand comes up to cup Stefan’s cheek, meeting his eyes. “As long as this is what you want,” he says, and— all of the teasing is gone. He’s serious about this.

Inhaling sharply, Stefan nods. “It is,” he says, “I want to do this. I want _you_.”

Nodding, Leary pulls him back in. It’s tender, this time; more passion than hunger. That bliss doesn’t last long, however, as he suddenly pulls Stefan away from the door and stumbles back towards the bedroom. Once there, Stefan breaks away long enough to pull his undershirt off and toss it to the side unceremoniously. Leary chuckles lowly as he drags an appreciative gaze over Stefan’s toned form, pulling his own undershirt over his head and throwing it anywhere. With that, he pulls Stefan back in by the jaw as his back hits the door, stumbling inside and—

—the bedroom door swings shut.


	2. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stefan and Leary enter a relationship. Roy finds out the hard way.

There’s two things Stefan notices when he wakes up.

First of all, he has a splitting headache— something he recognizes as being the result of a hangover. Second of all, somebody’s arm is thrown over his waist. He inhales sharply. No, not somebody. _Leary._ Just like that, everything that happened last night comes flooding back in waves. Trailing kisses, rough touches, and… _shit_. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to block out the images. It doesn’t work.

This is a problem. A major one. He honest-to-God just slept with his _boss_. He could lose his job over this— and a whole lot more. Swearing quietly under his breath, he moves to rub at his face and pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars. His head hurts. A worse thought slips into his mind, then— _what if he kicks me out?_ Now his heart hurts too.

The only solution here is to leave before he can ask him to. Dropping his hands from his face, he shifts to _carefully_ push Leary’s arm off of him and stand up the best he can without disturbing the bed. His plan falls through immediately— all of a sudden, Leary’s gently grasping his wrist.

“Where are you going?” He asks groggily, voice slightly muffled due to the fact that half of his face is buried into the pillow.

Stefan freezes for a moment. “Home, I guess,” he says, “It’s pretty early. I don’t know where else I’d be going.” _Okay, wow, could you sound like any more of an idiot?_ “Uh, unless you want me to stay.” _Apparently so_. “No hard feelings if you don’t, of course. I understand.”

Leary grumbles something unintelligible, and— he’s pulling at Stefan’s wrist. “Get back here. I’m not kicking you out.”

Stefan inhales sharply. Exhales. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Leary mumbles, shifting so he can look up at Stefan with those deep blue eyes of his. Subtly, he trails his hand down to link fingers with the younger man. “‘Less you wanna go home.” He pauses, humming softly. “I want you here.”

“No, I—” Stefan bites the inside of his cheek. _He wants me here. He’s not kicking me out_. _He_ wants _me here_. “I can stay.”

Letting out only a small grunt of acknowledgement, Leary pulls Stefan back into bed— then, he tugs him closer by the hips and kisses him hard. Stefan is momentarily taken by surprise, but quickly melts into it, hands sliding up into Leary’s hair. Breaking away for a moment, Leary breathes out a low chuckle. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips mere inches from Stefan’s. “Christ, you’re _perfect._ Best I’ve had in years.”

Stefan’s heart is drumming a song against his ribcage. Suddenly, he’s forgotten all his words— well, all of them except any that could be used to describe how _attractive_ Leary is. “Y’sure about that?” He mumbles, “I can’t imagine you haven’t had better.”

With a hum, Leary’s hand snakes up to the back of Stefan’s head and pulls on his hair, leaving his bruised neck exposed. He drops his head to kiss over one of the harder bites, his voice muffled against Stefan’s skin. “Never been more sure,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet Stefan’s. “You’re good at what you do, Stefan.” A pause, as he bites down on one of the unmarked spots. “Damn good.”

Despite himself, Stefan lets out a breathy moan. Already so _weak_. “I’ve had the practice,” he manages to say, “You’re not the first man I’ve been with.” He takes a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Though, you _are_ the first one with actual experience. Normally I have to take the reins.”

Leary lets out a short laugh, and he's trailing kisses up to Stefan's jaw. “I’ve been with rookies and vets galore,” he says in between. “None of 'em come close to you.”

“I’m flattered,” Stefan says, and he tries to ignore the heat rushing to his cheeks— among other places. “Keep talking like that and I might not be able to control myself.”

“What, you like that?” Leary very nearly purrs, low and daring. It's then that he lets go of Stefan's hair, hand sliding down his back and circling around to his chest. “You like it when I praise you?” His hand keeps going lower, lower, _lower._

With a sharp intake of air, Stefan squeezes his eyes shut. “I think it’s obvious,” he says, “Extremely obvious.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, there's the sudden feeling of Leary’s firm grip. Another sharp inhale. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a tease?”

Leary hums, moving so they're eye-to-eye. “Once or twice,” he says. With a glint in his eyes and a devious grin, he closes the gap between their lips and wastes no time in working his hand.

There’s one thing that the two men fail to realize: they’re already _supremely_ late to work.

 

* * *

 

Everyone at the station seemed to be none-the-wiser.

Nobody brought up their lateness, or the fact that they came in together; the only person to ask why they were late was Donnelly, and that was just routine. They came up with their own stories on the fly, yet both of them ended the same way— _“It’s just a coincidence that we arrived at the same time,”_ something along those lines. They tried as hard as they could to keep from sounding defensive, but with the way Donnelly had just raised an eyebrow and gestured for them to go on, they couldn’t help it.

The rest of the day was populated by stolen glances and fleeting touches, quick words and unspoken pleas. They both knew how that day was going to end: stumbling into Leary’s apartment with their hands roaming the other’s form and their tongues in each other’s mouths. On that note, they knew how the next day was going to start— waking up in Leary’s bed, and ending up another hour late to work.

That’s how it was for a while, rinse and repeat. It’s been _weeks_ since Stefan last came home to his own apartment, content with spending his days with Leary, the one man who had managed to steal his heart. It worked out that Leary enjoyed having him around, too— he enjoyed the passion, the long and steamy nights, but most of all he enjoyed the _love._ He’d never admit it to himself, but God damn it, he _loved_ Stefan. He was never much of a religious man, only what his family pushed upon him, but every single night he heard _“I love you”_ escape the younger man’s lips he had to resist the urge to get down on his knees and thank God by name.

They were in perfect bliss— absolute, utter grace. As far as they were concerned, nothing could bring them down.

Enter Roy Earle.

Now, Roy is a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot. He’d clocked it the moment it happened; Bekowsky and Leary weren’t subtle in the least. Not a minute went by that they weren’t making eyes at each other, hands sliding down arms and words being whispered when they thought no one was looking. If he could hazard a guess, he’d say those words were something along the lines of _“let’s find somewhere dark and go at it,”_ considering that they’d always disappear afterwards and come back wearing each other’s ties. It’s almost nauseating, but he’s no better, not really. The things he did with Morris when backs were turned…

He shakes his head. Not the point right now. The point right now is—

Roy stops upon hearing something… _strange_ coming from upstairs. What _is_ that? Nobody should be creeping around this late but the handful of patrolmen on night shift and definitely nobody in _Traffic_ at that. What could _they_ be doing at this hour? Arresting some boozed up kid for failing to hit the brakes in time? He scoffs and starts for the stairs. Whoever it is, he’ll find out.

There’s another suspect noise— it sounds like a voice, low and rough, the words unintelligible but holding a teasing lilt. The words are followed by a _thump_ and a soft laugh. Roy’s eyes narrow a bit when he realizes exactly where it’s all coming from: Leary’s office. Soon enough, he’s upstairs, creeping as quietly as he can through the Traffic floor. Once he’s closer to the door, he stops and listens. He doesn’t really need to; he already knows what’s going on, but… something’s telling him to stay.

It’s then that beyond the locked door to Leary’s office, he can hear a harder _thump,_ followed by the same gruff voice as before— it’s clear now that voice belongs to Leary. “You know what I want to do to you, Stefan?”

There’s that laugh again— that’s Bekowsky. “I can probably—” Another thump and a sharp moan. “— _guess_. I can probably guess.”

“Oh, can you?” Leary asks, and his tone is teasing. There’s yet another thump and then a sudden grunt from him, followed by another moan from Bekowsky. “ _Fuck—_ ” Leary lets out a breathless laugh. “Stay still. I’m going to tie this around your eyes, now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

And just like that, Roy can hear them settle into a rhythm. He stays put for just a second before inhaling sharply and turning on his heel. His mouth is suddenly dry. There’s a difference between jumping to conclusions and actually catching them in the act. He feels… well, he doesn’t know _what_ he feels, but something.

God, what are those idiots even thinking? Doing… _that_ in public is a risk and one that Roy knows well, having been caught for it before. It could get them in so much trouble that they’d be drowning in it.

Suddenly, something hits him.

Why shouldn’t _they_ be caught too? A terrible, _terrible_ plan is forming in his head now. After getting caught for _other_ misdoings, he’d been looking for a way to get the spotlight off of him— and by extension, his partner Colymer— and here it is, practically presented to him on a silver platter. It’s almost _too_ perfect, honestly, but Roy isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He’d just have a word with Donnelly tomorrow and everything would be as it should be.  

 

* * *

 

When Roy Earle, the hotshot of Vice walked into his office, Donnelly didn’t know _what_ to think.

He especially didn’t know what to think of the sinister grin on his face, or the uncharacteristic spring in his step— he usually carries himself as if he’s won some non-existent battle, but this is… different. A _horrible_ different. A different that brings a surprisingly potent feeling of _dread,_ something he hasn’t felt so strongly in years. Though, Donnelly didn’t get this job by letting his emotions show— he only glances up at Roy from his paperwork, eyebrows furrowed. “Earle,” he greets, eyes dropping to what he had been writing. “I’m not your captain anymore, lad. Does Vice need something from Homicide?”

“Not quite,” Roy says, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, “Actually, this has less to do with Homicide and more to do with Traffic.”

“Then you should go to Leary,” Donnelly says, neatly signing his current page of paperwork and moving onto the next.

Roy hums. “See, that’s just the thing,” he says, “It has to do with something he’s doing, in particular, and I thought you might be interested in knowing.”

That gets Donnelly to look up. There’s a certain crease in his brow— he’s curious. “Well, out with it.” He gestures for Roy to go on.

“Long story short,” Roy says, “I was at the station real late last night and I was walking past Leary’s office on my way to my car when I happened to overhear something.” A pause, as if for dramatic effect. “Wouldn’t you know it, he’s in there with the Polish boy. Turns out they’re _real_ cozy.”

For what feels like an eternity, Donnelly just stares. Then, he's getting up and moving to lock the door, expression gravely serious as he turns back to face Roy. “Earle—” He exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Soon enough, he drops his hand back to his side, fixing Roy with a fierce, almost challenging gaze. “Who cares?”

Roy takes that challenge. “You’re telling me _you_ don’t?” He says, “What they’re doing is wrong in more ways than one.”

Donnelly sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I know that,” he says, “I've been in this job much longer than you, Earle.” He opens his eyes then, moving his hand to his chin in thought. “There's only one way that this is wrong,” he starts, carefully, “and it's the fact that Leary is Bekowsky's captain. That is _it._ ” He sighs again— gives himself a chance to calm down. When he's sure he won't say anything he might regret, he continues. “I'll talk to them, boyo. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Roy is quiet. There’s something in his expression— vague realization, maybe. Then, he shrugs and turns on his heel to leave. “Anytime, Donnelly,” he says, “Have a nice day.” It’s all he has to say before he’s unlocking the door and stepping out.

As he makes his way to the Vice squad room, there’s one thing and one thing only on Roy’s mind: Leary and Bekowsky apparently aren’t the only queers in the station. He’s surprised, honestly, but at the same time— well, this explains why his old captain had always seemed oddly _close_ with Galloway. All things considered, he should’ve known he wouldn’t get far with Donnelly.

If it came down to it, he’d go higher up, but until then— he’d be keeping an eye on them.


End file.
